Reunion Wears Prada
by DelicatePoem
Summary: [Sequel for The D(evil) Wears Prada]. When Emma Swan left Runway during the end of Paris Fashion Week, she never expected she'd hear from Regina again. Henry Mills may have brought them together, but the press is ruthless. There's Regina's upcoming divorce proceedings to consider, Henry's well-being and Emma's career, which might prove to be a bigger challenge than they'd expected.
1. october 2006

A/N: When I published the first part last year, I had no idea it would be a first part. The response was so great, I knew I had to bring more to this universe. It has become very dear to me.

I've met some incredible people this year, who helped me with plot details, encouraged me to not give up, wished me the best! A big big thank you to Tabitha, KizuRai (my biggest fan), Vic, gaypanic and all the other lovelies I've met along the way because you're wonderful! Thank you again to the awesome hosts of Swan Queen Supernova — and sorry for all the trouble I may have caused thanks to my delay. I'd like to give a million thanks to my betas, inkedauthority and mariacomet. Without you, the story wouldn't be what it is now! Also, thank you to my awesome cheerleader, who coincidentally was my artist last year! misthavens, you're amazing! I can't thank you enough for all the support!

And soundslikehope, who agreed to take a last-minute look at the story and made me laugh with her amazing commentary throughout everything. Thank you so much!

Last but not least, thank you to khaleegis, the artist who made the SUPERB film poster art you can see on AO3. It's beautiful!

Without further ado, hope you all enjoy it, can't wait to hear what you think. I'd recommend reading the first installment if you haven't yet - it'll be easier to follow the subtleties. I've left a short summary of what's happened beforehand, though!

* * *

 **Previously, on The D(evil) Wears Prada:**

Emma lands the job as a second assistant to Regina Mills, editor-in-chief of the illustrious Runway Magazine, and manages to last a total of seven months, twenty-three days and twelve hours, before seemingly throwing away her dreams of becoming a journalist.

 _"_ _You did the same to Lena... You thought of yourself first." What? No, no, no. "And I see a brilliant path ahead of you... You just have to be willing to take it. Everybody wants to be us, Emma." They lock gazes, but Emma looks away, widening her eyes. No, no, no. The thread of panic grows bigger, exponentially bigger._

 _She can't stay in this job. She can't. Who has she become?_ You did the same to Lena _. Has she lost herself along the way? She's becoming selfish. Selfish just as Lena is, just as Jefferson, just as Killian, Fiona, and everyone else in the fashion industry._

 _She can't stay. Not if she'll be just as easily cast away. No, she wouldn't be able to handle that. What Regina did to Jefferson could be her in a few months. Hell, in a few days, even. Regina means a lot to her, and she can't lose her."_

After the disaster that was Paris Fashion Week, they don't expect to see each other ever again. But Henry, Regina's son, brings them back together on Emma's birthday.

 _Staring at Emma now, Regina knows she cannot let the opportunity go to waste. Henry has brought her back. That has to mean something._

 _"_ _Hello, Emma." Her voice trembles slightly, but she hopes her expression gives nothing away, not yet. "Would you like to accompany us for dinner?"_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: october 2006**

This is not how Emma imagined her birthday would play out when she woke up today. She'd had it planned, even. She'd visualized some copy editing, then eating her ridiculously expensive cupcake (the only day she allows herself to splurge), maybe a glass of wine or a beer depending on her mood, surfing through TV channels just to keep the noise flowing in the apartment… Nothing extravagant, by any means.

Alas, it seems a rarity: the day something will go according to plan when Emma's involved. That day will certainly forecast rain and catastrophe, Emma ponders with the hint of a smile on her lips. Unfortunately, her amusement is short-lived, when she hears more of Regina's speaking on the phone glued to her ear, and remembers just _where_ she is.

She's waiting for Sidney with Regina and Henry, at the mostly quiet (such thing does exist, in New York!) and luxurious street, with its houses that cost more than Emma's whole student fees, her apartment and her wardrobe combined. It's intimidating. What a trio they must make to the passersby.

Usually Regina doesn't have to wait, because everything is on schedule, and Emma gathers the dinner was probably scheduled for later. Since Emma's accompanying them, Regina's most likely decided to rush things, hence why they've been waiting on the sidewalk. (A lot of hypothetical ideas, Emma knows, but it's been like this — predicting and anticipating — ever since she'd started at _Runway.)_ She can't imagine Regina would want her presence inside the townhouse anyway.

It's difficult to swallow — the guilt for disappearing with no formal resignation letter; the constant worry (who am I? just what am I capable of? have I become like the rest of them?); and, worst of all, the waves of hardly repressed _longing,_ which burns like acid and flutters wonderfully in her stomach at the same time. It's been nearly a month, and she _can't seem to let it go._

 _"_ _Would you like to accompany us for dinner?"_ Regina asked several minutes ago.

It's not like she could say no.

There'd been only one time she'd denied her anything: _Paris._ She endured everything else during those months at Runway except their last exchange. It plays on repeat, it always plays on repeat… The insight she didn't want, she thinks, didn't ask for, but received anyways.

And how must Emma reconcile with this simple fact… despite knowing what Regina's capable of — her powerful stance and presence demanding answers everywhere she goes, like she beseeches without actually voicing anything; careless of the thoughts of others, her goal the only one that matters — Emma is still drawn to her, like Regina is a magnet she tried to repel and now here she is, again. It's a terrifying realization to face.

 _Is this a test?,_ she finally asks herself, her thoughts jumping back to the pressing issue. Why else would Regina invite her? Why? The assistant who had the audacity to leave her… Yes, she's missed Regina, but what does that make her? She'd also left. For good reasons, honorable reasons.

"That'll be all." Regina closes her Motorola with a swift click, irritation palpable in her tone. Thank god she's not whoever that was on the line.

'What is she playing at?' is the question that won't leave her thoughts, though. Emma keeps her eyes fastened on the street, her arms crossed in an attempt to ward off the cold — the leather jacket she's wearing is practically nothing against it. It's certainly getting chillier at night.

"Henry. Do you have an idea of just how worried I was?" Regina asks quietly, and Emma can only imagine the scare Henry gave her.

She tries to keep her attention elsewhere, tries to answer the questions her brain's collecting nonstop, tries not to eavesdrop, she truly does, but it's virtually impossible thanks to her proximity.

"I'm sorry, Mom…" he says just as quietly as Regina had. "It's just that today is Emma's birthday," he whispers as if it's a secret, and Emma barely reins a chuckle in. "I knew she was going to be alone so I wanted to give her my gift." Regina's smile drops at that, and Emma fiddles uncomfortably with her glasses, her throat constricting at the idea of Regina's knowledge that Emma would be alone today otherwise.

"Oh," is what Regina says in response, surprise coloring her tone, like she actually cares.

Pressing her lips together, Emma abstains from saying anything. _What was that?_

Just as she's about to shift away or say something along the lines of 'Forget it, thanks for the invite but my cupcake is waiting for me,' the town car arrives. The conversation taking place without her input is cut short with, "We'll talk about this later," from Regina, and now it's too late to back out.

[SQ]

She is the editor-in-chief of an award-winning magazine, the arbiter of a four-hundred billion dollars a year industry, the queen of fashion, the influence over the next fashion trend and the ones after. Regina is also one of the most influential people in the fashion and publishing world. Her opinion is what matters, as Jefferson had so aptly put it a few months ago.

The list goes on.

She has been at the helm for seven years, despite the hardships faced.

She has thousands of followers and more than a few enemies; there are those who want to be her and those who want to be _with_ her.

It's also a well-known fact: one shake of her head or pursing of her lips can demolish an entire career.

And yet…

When it comes to Emma Swan, all titles and glamour and grace seem to disappear faster than she can say _Christian Dior_.

Subtly clenching her hands in fists to prevent them from shaking, Regina looks fixedly at the world outside the window, seeing nothing. To be honest, it's a foolish attempt at seeming indifferent to the conversation taking place, because she doesn't know what to say, doesn't think Emma would appreciate her input. Doesn't think Emma would want to know the jacket she's wearing makes her heart skip a beat (or several).

 _Why did I invite her?_ the voice inside her head asks, but that same voice already has the answer, even if she does not want to admit it: _You know why._

"...think you're going to like the food, Emma," Regina tunes back in to hear Henry say. "It's an Italian restaurant. The pasta is awesome."

Emma chuckles uneasily. Who can blame her? Regina understands this might be the last place her ex-assistant wanted to be spending her birthday.

"I love food," Emma indulges him, no matter if she sounds uncomfortable, "so I'm sure I'll love it." She must have thrown in one of her toothy smiles, but Regina wouldn't know because she is definitely _not looking._

[SQ]

As they pull up in the limo, at least twenty paparazzi are at the sidewalk waiting for them; for Regina more specifically. Lips pursed in her displeasure, Regina finally realizes what a stupid idea this was. After all, this is a famous restaurant, and the vultures are always searching for their next victim for Page Six. Right now she's their chosen one, especially after speculations of her impending divorce became public — The Wall Street Journal published the day before a _lovely_ piece of Robin's filing for a divorce. Somebody must have tipped off where she'd be today, see if they could extract anything from her.

"Mom, do you think someone famous is inside?" His eyes sparkle at the possibility, and Regina gives him an affectionate eye roll in response.

Emma moves forward in her seat to understand what's happening, and as she does, the smell of her sweet perfume drifts to Regina, bringing up memories of a shared elevator in other times. Looking over Henry's head to Regina's window, Emma's mouth falls open. "Uh…"

 _"_ _Uh,_ indeed," are Regina's first words inside the car, and she feels discomfited by her own tone, regretting the comment as soon as it left her mouth. _Yes, Regina. Just the right thing to say to her._ She didn't mean to sound so condescending, but Emma's scent is wreaking havoc with her brain and leaving her out of sorts.

She holds up a hand, deciding to tackle more important matters than a crush on her ex-assistant. _Honestly, Regina._ She inwardly rolls her eyes. "One minute, there's something I must do before we go." And if she is sounding too explanatory for even her own taste, well, she will say it's ostensibly for her son.

Taking her smartphone from her purse, Regina clicks '1' on speed dial and presses it to her ear.

Five seconds later, her first assistant answers. Lena does know how to be prompt. _"Hello, Regina. What can I do for you?"_ Question posed as an affirmative. Good.

Regina doesn't bother with greetings. "Contact Victoria. She better minimize the press for this outing. And make sure to lay down the importance of my son's protection, or else…"

 _"_ _Yes, absolutely, Regina."_

"That's all."

[SQ]

And they are off to a great start—

No, they definitely are not.

If Emma had arrived by herself, she wouldn't have been able to get out of the car. There are people everywhere, and Emma hadn't felt the absence of this...this part of Regina's life. This very important part.

It's glaringly obvious their lives are quite different. The intriguing point is that Emma doesn't care: it's always awe-inspiring to take in Regina's grace and complete indifference to the flashes, the absurd questions, the ridiculous paparazzi.

"10:30, Sidney," Regina tells him, then set her sunglasses on, the movement unhurried and languid, turning to the window.

Everything happens so fast. Sidney gets out of the vehicle in the next beat, circling around the front to reach Regina's door. Subsequently, Regina leaves the car without a care, Henry soon following her, probably used to it. Emma is _not_ used to it.

It's like their little bubble inside the car was popped when the door was opened. The buzz outside is the equivalent of a full classroom of noisy children. Emma's eyes widen, overwhelmed. Nonetheless, she follows their cue, pretending like this is an everyday occurrence as she maneuvers herself out of the limo. (No way she'd miss the help of the security guards.)

She picks up on a few of their questions, and _what the hell is wrong with these people?_

"—got anything to add?"

Camera flash.

"Regina!"

More cameras flashing.

"Is it true—"

 _And… flash!_

"Regina, Regina!"

"—divorce?"

"Over here!"

Oh my god. Her vision _and_ her hearing may have been permanently affected. Yes, Emma had already experienced something similar to this, firstly on the Benefit night and then when they were in Paris. But never like this, these intrusive, meddlesome press people, crowding them with their cameras and recorders and incessant questions about fucking _rumors!_

And Emma feels the opposite of glamorous with all the flashes; the only article of clothing she's wearing that is remotely expensive is the jacket. Everything else — her white shirt, her jeans, her scuffed boots — have seen better days. Good thing they weren't paying any mind to her, more worried with Regina than anything else.

They are stupid, above all. _As if_ Regina would provide any commentary, Emma scoffs inwardly.

(And if she stared at Regina's ass for a few seconds, there's no way any picture caught that...right?)

When they finally manage to get inside, she mutters a thank you to the security, a frown etched to her features.

"You get used to it," Henry whispers to her, freeing himself from under his mom's arm, and Emma smiles weakly.

The first thing she notices is the brightness of the establishment, and immediately wishes to understand what made Regina choose this restaurant and its Christmas lights festooned along the walls. She doesn't remember booking anything for Regina here, and would never have suggested it — she is almost positive Regina isn't appreciative of the fact the homely décor doesn't scream sophistication. The place is small and crowded, noise and chatter filling every little nook of it.

Wait. She looks around and counts no more than twelve tables and booths combined. There is _one_ booth vacant at the back.

It's then she notices the chatter diminished in volume when they got in. No matter where Regina goes, she's always recognized.

"Frank," Regina greets in her charming voice, turning to an older man sitting on one of the bar stools by the entrance and air-kissing him. The journalist side of Emma instantly craves for the back-story. One of the many mysteries Regina Mills presents, she supposes.

She will ask Henry later.

"Regina, sweetheart," Frank says warmly, "you haven't changed one bit. And look at you, Henry... You've grown since I last saw you."

Henry grins. "Really? But we were here last month."

"Just enough time," Frank answers with a chuckle. He then turns to Emma, who was quite content with listening and waiting for their table, really. "And who might this be?"

"Hi... I'm Emma…" She almost fiddles with her glasses, but stops her hands just in time, slipping them inside her CK jeans' pockets instead. There's a thing or two she learned from being constantly in Regina's presence. "Emma Swan."

Frank gives her a smile which seems sincere enough for Emma's shoulders to drop slightly. "I don't believe I've seen her before, Mills," he tells Regina, intrigued. "A friend of yours?"

Right... _Friends._ Because they _definitely_ are.

Emma barely holds in a snort.

"Mhmm," Regina hums affirmatively before Emma can fumble for an answer. "Frank, dear, is our table ready?"

"Yes, of course. Right this way."

[SQ]

Emma exhales into the cold night's air and smiles, looking up to watch the condensation with every exhale. It strangely reminds her of home; she did this all the time when she was little. 'Look, Dad, I'm gonna freeze everything!' she'd tell David as they stood in the backyard watching the stars. Those were the good times where she would dress up as a superhero and chase their dog around.

It's October 22nd. Christmas is practically around the corner now and that means seeing her family, but… has it really been that long since she left Storybrooke? It seems like an entire lifetime has passed in the span of almost a year.

She shakes her head to focus on more pressing matters, like how she just finished having dinner with Regina and Henry a few moments ago. What's more, they didn't fight, the silence wasn't stifling and there was no tense atmosphere. In fact, it had been fun. Henry did most of the talking, but Emma's quite sure that his mother wasn't complaining (probably wanted Emma the hell out of the establishment) as Emma gathered by Regina's uncharacteristically quiet manner tonight.

And if the lack of messages from Neal or Lily had her in sad spirits for a while, this dinner softened the blow. It was, overall, an enjoyable birthday. Better than eating that sad excuse for a cake she left on the counter and wallowing in self-pity.

Not to mention the food. Neal popped up in her thoughts more than once throughout dinner, because he would've loved the place. As she ate the delicious pasta Henry _and_ Regina recommended (there was no menu to choose from) she could imagine Neal concentrating and doing his 'cook-face', which meant he was thoroughly analyzing the dish. _Rao's_ was clearly exclusive or, at least, famous. She'd search that later.

But my god, the sauce was to die for!

 _A much more enjoyable birthday, yes._

"252 Broome Street, please," she says to the taxi driver once she gets inside the vehicle.

She's lost in her own head the whole way home. Her thoughts are too jumbled to pick apart, and maybe she's just too tired from the long day at work. The meal had been expensive, but Regina hadn't batted an eye and refused to let Emma pay. "Nonsense," she'd said. "It's your birthday." And that was that.

Okay, then Regina leaning in and doing that air-kiss thing to say goodbye had startled Emma a lot (visibly, if Regina's questioning gaze was anything to go by) and her heart twinged painfully, because there it is: the push and pull in her emotions. She's smitten all over again; it's maddening that it has clouded her judgement this fast. Why do that? Why not say goodbye like normal people?

 _No, let's be awkward and pretend I'm one of your besties at an event,_ she thinks, rolling her eyes.

Emma knows she had to leave Regina that day, knows she has the job she wanted and is now on the right path. However, she also knows it was a difficult decision to make — leaving Regina, that is. She misses seeing her on a daily basis. Hearing her voice, watching her in her element...even listening to her nonsensical demands. And Henry... She's missed his infectious smile and his exuberance. More than she can properly put into words.

Back inside her lonely apartment, Emma throws her keys on the small table near the door and finds Henry's decorated envelope resting upon it. Smiling softly, she picks it up and opens the seal carefully, lest she tear whatever's inside. It's a paper; pulling it out, she finds a drawing. Laughing in pure joy, she takes it in and if her eyes fill with tears, well, there's no one to see it. _Henry is so good!_ , she thinks, gazing down at the drawing in her hands. She traces her fingers along the detailed version of herself holding a _keyblade_ , just like the main character from Kingdom Hearts 2, poised to start the fight against Sephiroth.

Attaching it delicately to her fridge, Emma aches for a way to thank this amazing kid who turned her birthday around. She'll treasure this forever.

[SQ]

Regina is known for being unpredictable. Well, the tabloids have always said so. If the world had _once_ deemed her to be predictable, she would _not_ be where she is now. She'd be forgotten; the magazine would be forgotten; and she would be in the shadow of Cora Mills forever.

It was 1998, one year before becoming editor-in-chief of _Runway._ When she'd started her internship at Elias-Clarke, Mother promised, "One day you'll be sitting behind this desk as the editor-in-chief of _Food & Wine Magazine_, Regina."

Regina had, in turn, shivered unpleasantly and flashed her teeth to her mother in a practiced smile, one which she learned from the woman herself. It had been a wonder at the time that her mother hadn't realized just how deeply Regina's displeasure ran, behind her 'happy' disposition with the idea. Perhaps Cora had been too excited her _precious daughter_ would keep her reign intact in the years to come.

Five months later, a position as junior editor for _Runway Magazine_ had become vacant, and she took the chance to escape Cora's immediate control with fierce determination. Plans were made, and Daniel's full support solidified her choice. "I believe in you, Regina. You can do this," he'd told her vehemently, eyes sparkling with his wholehearted love for her.

Regina soon learned: to climb the corporate ladder, she would have to shape and mold herself into a different persona; otherwise, would get nowhere in business. No tears, no emotional outbursts, no resignation towards men.

Cora had warned her, "You're being silly, Regina. Once you realize fashion will lead you nowhere, it might be too late," as if her fate was carved in stone, as if there was no future for her away from Mother's sharp claws. But there had been a slight desperation in her tone, Regina recalls. And she used that to remind herself to never give up.

Well, Mother did not live long enough to watch her at the very top, but at least they were able to make amends.

A phone rings outside her office, causing her to blink several times from her reverie. The third new assistant (of whom she has not bothered to learn the name) since Emma left answers the call, "Regina Mills' office, how can I help you?" and Regina wonders for a second if Human Resources are doing it on purpose at this point. How is it possible for someone's normal voice to sound like Britney Spears singing 'Toxic'?

Anyhow, there's no time to be remembering the past, not when she still has a lot to approve and oversee for December's issue. No when there are last adjustments to be made for the November issue that must go to printing this evening.

It seems futile, however, to resume her perusal of a few color palettes brought forward this morning. Her mind is elsewhere and that is normally unacceptable, but no one will know; she has to make sense of this utter… _nonsense_ first.

Regina shakes her head, swiveling in her chair to face the window, one of the palettes in hand. She is still unable to fathom… unable to _understand..._ Why did she invite Emma Swan for dinner? Regina is unpredictable, yes, but impulsive is not a word with which she would associate herself.

She'd invited _Emma_ , who surpassed any of the assistants she's had in a long time. The woman who managed to glimpse behind her mask. The assistant who ultimately did not want to be associated with her after her words resonated inside the car: _"Everybody wants to be us."_

 _Damn you, Emma Swan._

They had a lovely time yesterday, despite Emma's seemingly nervous disposition. Mercifully, nothing about her time as Regina's assistant was mentioned, and Regina cannot recall the last time she felt… normal in someone else's presence. She was still guarded, considering Emma's departure, but there was no need for niceties because Emma knows her at her worst. And had left. But came back?

It does not make any sense. Nothing does when Emma's concerned.

She purses her lips — the Art Department is extremely uninspired. Watermelon pink and mustard for the Spring edition? No, no. Perhaps it is her fault, considering what she did in Paris. Jefferson _has_ been distant and avoiding her whenever possible since that fateful day.

Paris… And now she's thinking of Emma _again._ Damn it.

[SQ]

That same afternoon, Regina is on the way to an offsite meeting when she sees it, sitting innocuously on a newsstand.

There's a traffic jam; she can check her e-mails. She _is_ expecting a response from Patrick... Or she can review next month's main spread; it's somewhere inside her briefcase.

Regina is tapping her fingers on her thighs instead. And lasts all of two minutes before curiosity gets the best of her. "Sidney," she finds herself saying, removing her sunglasses to stare at the newspaper in her immediate line of sight.

"Yes, Ms. Mills?"

"I want a copy of the _Mirror_." _Time to see if giving her that reference was worth it._

Sidney nods and leaves the vehicle to do as requested, not caring if they're double-parked; he perhaps senses the importance of her request. Regina puts back on her Dior sunglasses and waits.

The _New York Mirror_ is nothing special, nothing she has not seen before, but she admits there's a certain charm to it (and not because Emma Swan has written for Life Stories on page 12, no, not at all). Her humor is dry, her tone is compelling, her writing concise. There's improvement to be made, but Emma learns fast, and Regina knows this first-hand.

[SQ]

 _ **From:** Emma Swan emmaswan_

 _ **To:** Henry Mills henrymills_

 _ **Sent:** Monday, October 23rd, 2006 06:32 PM_

 _ **Subject:** Thank you!_

 _Hey, Henry!_

 _My gift is attached to the fridge already. I LOVE it, kid! You're so talented._

 _Thank-_

Emma bites her lip, faltering for a second. _Should I?_

 _Why not?_ It's not like they'll be seeing each other any time soon, much to her discontent. Chances are Regina won't even check Henry's e-mail. _Right,_ Emma rolls her eyes, _because that sounds exactly like Regina._

Emma sets her fingers on the keyboard and continues typing her message.

 _Thank you for last night. I had an amazing evening. Please thank your mom for me._

 _See you soon (hopefully)!_

Pressing the 'Send' button, Emma tells herself she would have sent something separately to Regina if she could, if she had her personal e-mail address, which is not the case. She tells herself Regina wouldn't appreciate it if any of her assistants read anything coming from her (Lena would delete it, no doubt there). Lastly, she tells herself it's not her fear of Regina's reaction to it.

 _Why do I keep lying to myself?_

 _I'm a coward,_ she thinks, remembering she still hasn't thanked Regina for the reference.

Archie, Emma's editor, emerges from his office just as she's regretting sending the message in the first place. "Emma, how is the story coming along?"

She turns to him, deciding to focus on her _job_ for the time being. "I'm almost done, just revising a paragraph."

"Send it in and start on the background information for the other piece." Emma gives him an affirmative nod, smiling.

She can't help thinking how contrasting the environment here is compared to _Runway_. Both are whirlwinds — in whole different aspects. While _Runway_ kept her on her toes (quite literally) with its crazy demands, racks of clothes strewn everywhere and blabbermouth co-workers, the _Mirror_ does so with its telephones ringing nonstop, the 'click-clack' of keyboards and the overall atmosphere of the office. Here there's no tiptoeing around the boss, no pretending, no 'I have to dress-up because everyone else is'.

However, she can never complain about her tenure at _Runway._ There's so much she learned with the entire experience. She can solve problems like no one else. She can focus so much better because everything at _Runway_ happened at the same time and she had to be prepared to multi-task.

But there are things she's not ready to face, her mind carefully reminds her. It's like being hit by a bucket of cold water when she closes her eyes and Regina's voice seems to be inside her head, taunting her:

 _I see a great deal of myself in you._

[SQ]

Regina takes a look at her wrist, and the hands of her watch tell her it's 5:53 PM. Opening the door, she calls out, "Henry, I'm home!" and her smile is nearly blinding when the sound of Henry's excited shout reaches her ears. Her little prince runs to the foyer and throws himself into her arms; she barely has time to set her purse on the ground. They hug for a few seconds, swaying from side to side.

Looking up at her, he exclaims, "You're home early!"

His toothy smile and sparkling eyes are a sight to behold, even if her heart twinges with guilt – he's excited because she was able to leave work early, which doesn't happen often. However, since the divorce began, Regina is trying her best to be more present, and that means shorter work days and less frivolous parties.

"Yes, the magazine is on printing," she explains, combing her fingers through his hair. "I figured we could have dinner then go downstairs to the workroom for a change."

Henry bobs his head up and down, hugging her once more before letting go. "I'll let Carla know you're home." He turns around and goes up the foyer steps, skipping on his way to the kitchen.

"We're eating at the small table today." She shakes her head amusedly at his antics. Some days he's just a mass of happy energy, it's infectious. "And no running inside the house, Henry!"

"Okay, Mom! Yes, Mom!" he shouts from the kitchen. Then a moment passes. "…sorry, Mom! I won't shout again!"

And now she's laughing, her shoulders free of any leftover tension from work. Henry is too precious.

[SQ]

Dinner was interspaced with Henry's tales about school, his latest project and the piano class he had earlier in the afternoon. Regina cannot ignore the fact that Henry is much more at ease without Robin's presence, one topic leading to another, and another, and another, his excited chatter more than enough to fill every little nook of the house with previously absent warmth.

Now they've gone down to the workroom, Regina's admittedly favorite place of the townhouse. It's their hidden—

"Mom, what color for the petals?" Henry asks, interrupting her previous train of thought.

"Your background is green...and see here?" Regina points at his contour. "You're not doing clean brushstrokes. You know what I'd recommend, but the choice is yours," Regina answers while rubbing his back and perusing his work-in-progress. "It's beautiful, Henry."

Her son smiles brightly. "I like what I have so far. And that doesn't happen often." He tilts his head. "You were talking about the scarlet red, right? To contrast?"

She hums, moving back to her own easel. "When did you get so smart?"

"I don't know... I'm your son."

She chuckles, but it is interrupted by the sound of the computer alerting them to a new e-mail.

"I got it!" He puts away his paintbrush and walks to the desk.

"Who is it from?" she asks, adding a stroke here, another there, composing the shape of legs in high-heeled boots. She needs some light here, and…

"Oh, it's from Emma!" he says excitedly, and if her eyes widen and she nearly run a line through the middle of the canvas, well, that's only because Henry's shout disrupted her concentration.

She sets her brush inside the glass of water. "Hmm. What does it say?" she asks with a tone that belies her racing heart.

"It's a thank-you note! About yesterday." Now standing behind the chair, she leans down to read the e-mail.

"'Please thank your mom for me'," Henry reads out loud. "You're already reading it, so…"

 _What does she want? Why not send that to me, instead?_

Regina's lips upturn. Now here's a chance…

"Click Respond. There's something I want to…"

[SQ]

Emma throws herself on the couch and exhales in relief. A job well-done today, she thinks, after being able to forward her draft for the next story.

Her laptop pings, alerting her to an e-mail. It can be Archie or one of her co-workers, so she must check it before tending to her grumbling stomach. With a sigh, she maneuvers herself so she can reach the coffee table, arm outstretched to swipe at the pad, turning the monitor screen back on.

There, she finds a response from Henry.

 _ **From:** Henry Mills henrymills_

 _ **To:** Emma Swan emmaswan_

 _ **Sent:** Monday, October 23rd, 2006 07:48 PM_

 _ **Subject:** RE: Thank you!_

 _Hey Emma!_

 _I'm so glad we got to spend your birthday together! I miss you, okay? I miss scaring you every time you delivered the Book. Don't be a stranger, I mean it!_

 _Oh, and Mom says, 'You could have thanked me directly, I won't rip out your heart if that's what you are worried about.' Her words. Not mine._

 _Anyway, I gave you that drawing because I have hope you'll beat him one day. Even before I do!_

 _Talk to you soon!_

 _Henry_

Correction: a response from Henry _and_ Regina.

Emma starts to laugh, staring back at the ceiling, a soft laugh that manages to cut through the silence of the apartment like a hundred knives — it's not a good, full belly laugh, because she doesn't know what to feel. She doesn't know if she's happy Regina has… reached out? (or whatever the hell that was), if she's weary, if she's giddy, if she's fearful, if she's just…

"I'm tired," she concludes with a grumble, pleading to whoever's listening that they shed some light and give her a clue of what's going on, damn it.

Covering her face with her hands, Emma heaves a sigh. If this is a twisted game of some kind to Regina, _like hell_ that Emma will participate.

* * *

A/N: I'll be uploading the chapters in a few days, most likely. The work is already posted on AO3 as well, if you want to check it out (my user is the same).


	2. yearning and starbucks coffee

**November 2006**

November comes, and with it more and more responsibilities that pile up and overlap. There are divorce meetings looming about, a huge amount of paperwork to fill and choices to run through every day. Regina tells herself she doesn't mind any of that, she shouldn't. After all, she is _Regina Mills,_ there is no time for complaining and feeling tired.

But she is, she _is_ feeling tired.

Some days she wakes up and going through her routine again makes her want to scream. 5:45 AM and the alarm resonates through her skull just as the day before. Regina presses the button with such strength that it's a miracle the damned thing has not broken.

She moves her hands to her eyes and groans. "No rest for the wicked…"

There's no Robin beside her, snoring away, an arm around her. Their last months were difficult, yes, but is it so bad she misses what his presence meant?

Regina is aware of the fact that she is responsible for the next fashion trend and the ones after; she determines the clothes people will wear. She's the editor-in-chief of the most popular fashion magazine in the world.

But Regina is also aware that no one is there to share these accomplishments with her at the end of the day. Who will genuinely listen to her…? Maya? Donatella?

Sighing, she pushes back the covers, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. She lets her legs drop to the side, and before her feet touch the floor, she puts her slippers on.

However, Regina does not let these thoughts deter her—she's still _Regina Mills,_ editor-in-chief of _Runway Magazine,_ and nothing brings her down, with the exception of a second assistant whose sole presence could change Regina's views of the way the world should work. Her interest had been piqued. And that happened so fast even the butterflies in her stomach couldn't keep up.

Even if that's the absolute truth, _she does not let it deter her._ No. Her shoulders are stiff and squared, her impeccable mask in place, her aloof persona intact. It won't do to slip up and become a target for those vultures desperately waiting for her demise.

Regina does her morning routine on autopilot. She could say she misses the constant talking from Robin, but he never did say anything remotely interesting to her, or even paid attention to what she wanted to tell him about her recent accomplishments. So, as time passed, Regina understood it was better to tune him out than to hope he'd listen to her for a change.

Now, though, there's a silence she's not accustomed to and she finds herself craving the buzz from the office; the thrill that comes from being on top of her game.

Regina _has_ promised she will not lie to herself anymore, though, ever since she admitted her feelings for one blonde ex-assistant.

(There is an odd little tug in her chest that tells her there's more to this than just winning at her self-imposed game.

She might be feeling _lonely._

But Regina has never indulged these preposterous notions for long.

They will bring nothing but failure if she dwells on them too much.)

[SQ]

Her morning routine might be done on autopilot by now, but the one thing Regina ponders carefully is her outfit. That's a craft, something that needs thoughtful and meticulous planning, as well as its proper acknowledgement. Today, to match her weird mood—which she has not quite yet figured out—she decides upon wearing a killer pantsuit from Versace and high-heeled boots to tower over those ridiculous men at the board meeting.

"I can't believe I have to deal with Robert Gold today," she says to herself, rolling her eyes as she exits her enormous closet. They have not spoken much to each other after his failed coup two months ago.

 _Well, he won't be removing a cent from my budget for a while, that's for sure._

Her next stop is Henry, to give him a goodbye kiss before leaving for the day. She climbs up the stairs to the third floor with practiced steps even in heels.

She peeks into his bedroom and finds him rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Henry… Did I wake you up? You still have time to sleep, honey."

Henry yawns tiredly and nods. "Just couldn't sleep anymore. I wanted to give you a hug before you left."

Regina smiles: now _that's_ a proper way to start her day.

She makes her way to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, sniffling the top of his head. She pulls back a little, eyebrows quirked up.

"I think _someone_ needs a shower."

"Mom!" He laughs, letting go of her and falling back on the bed.

[SQ]

At precisely 6:30 AM, not a moment earlier and not a moment later, her hair and makeup artist rings the doorbell and in half an hour everything is perfect, ready for another ruthless day in the fashion world. Sidney arrives at 7:02, which doesn't happen often, and her mood has further improved by everyone's promptness.

Regina has fifteen minutes give or take until she gets to the office, so she uses that time to check her e-mail and text messages, to give the first instructions for the day and to take a last minute look at the Book.

However, today will be different. Wondering why they're taking so long, Regina lifts her eyes from her Blackberry. She glances outside and does a double-take, because there goes Emma Swan on the other side of the street, wearing the gray beanie and the red leather jacket _she_ gifted her once upon a time.

She gave and gave lots of things, and none of them will ever be acknowledged.

The urge to say something, however, surpasses any good sense.

(Especially when the fluttering feeling inside her chest manifests itself again at the sight of Emma Swan.)

Once that's decided, with sure fingers she finds Emma's number, there on speed dial, not as **_1_** or even **_2_** on her work phone (and only because it's her work phone). Punching **_4_** —numbered that way after Lena, then the second assistant and, finally, Sidney—Regina closes her eyes as she hears the line tell her 'this number no longer exists'.

Of course, she had forgotten about the rumours — the gossip around the office concerning a phone thrown away at a fountain and a payment made on HR to take care of the damage from the irreplaceable T-Mobile.

Her face collapses behind sunglasses.

And there goes Emma, probably on her way to work, who will never know Regina was not able to reach her.

[SQ]

Emma repeats in her head it's just a coincidence, just a coincidence that her morning coffee is bought from the same Starbucks she used to get Regina's daily coffees (no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot, her mind supplies _oh so helpfully)_. She repeats it's just a coincidence every single day she walks inside the establishment. Maybe this way it'll stop ringing so false even to her ears.

It's been almost two months since she left _Runway_ and it's crazy how she's unable to let it go. How she still finds ways to replicate previous work rituals and afterwards lies to herself saying it's more practical and convenient.

She brushes past the exiting people as the door from Starbucks opens, the enticing smell of coffee engulfing her when she finally walks in. Standing in line, she casts her gaze around for a lack of a better thing to do, and hears a British accent drawl before she sees— "For the last time, I have _no_ idea about what's happened…"

There, waiting by the counter, one hand on her hip and the other holding the phone to her ear, is no other than Lena, her shiny auburn curls unmistakable.

 _Why is_ she _getting the coffee?_

"...oh, absolutely—Regina, what has your knickers in a twist this time? Would you mind terribly if I asked why you fired the new assistant?" Oh, there it is. Lena is back to performing a two-woman job. "Honestly, Jefferson." Emma fights the urge to snort as she listens.

"Thank you," Emma says to the man at the counter, who has already punched in her order (he knows her from her time as Regina's assistant). She watches as another barista carries a tray of coffees to Lena. The wonders of not having to pay in cash because it goes directly to the _Runway_ account…

"...yes, yes, there are two run-throughs scheduled," she tunes in to Lena's conversation while paying for her order. _Come on, come on, don't let her see me, come on…_ "It shan't… Just…do not let them bring anything remotely yellow and we'll be fine...mhmm, well, good luck. You'll be needing it. I've got the order now, so I'll see you in a few—"

Lena turns and sees her and damn it, that definitely was _not_ a part of the plan. She grabs her coffee order and thanks the guy again, wincing.

"If it isn't _Emma Swan,_ the traitor herself," Lena says, clicking something on the phone and removing it from her ear, eyebrows raised at the sight of her. Of all people she could've met today, it _had_ to be Lena. "What brings you here?"

"Hey, Lena." She raises her coffee, shrugging. "Same as you, I suppose."

Lena rolls her eyes. "You're so funny." They start walking to the exit. "Well, I can't believe I'm saying this… and if you tell anyone, you're going back to Kansas."

"Storybrooke."

"I don't care. What's important is that work's been hell since you've left. I'm even having to carry the tray of coffees again, because Regina fired another assistant yesterday and they haven't found a replacement." Emma takes a sip of her coffee as they step outside, back to noisy Manhattan. "Indulge me for a moment, will you? Regina's in a meeting for the next thirty minutes so that means I can finally take a time to _breathe."_

She had forgotten that Lena loves to complain. And god, does she walk fast in heels. Her strut is purposeful as she holds four coffees in her hands. These skills are so not receiving the praise they deserve, Emma is certain.

They parted ways amicably, in the end. Especially after Emma donated most of her clothes from Paris to her. She sent an e-mail inquiring if Lena would be able to take some of them off her hands, since Emma wouldn't wear them anyway. (And Lena also realized her broken leg wouldn't be useful there either.)

The bitterness has receded… for the most part.

"The only explanation is… you're bonkers." Lena supplies matter-of-factly, not caring whether Emma can keep up or not. "Seriously, why did you leave? You'd made my job ten times easier! I'm still mad about Paris, by the way. No one dares to utter your name around the office, and it's been bloody difficult to find a decent assistant—"

"Lena, Lena, wait." Emma interrupts, stopping in her tracks, carefully gripping Lena's arm so as she doesn't jostle the tray. This is the wrong way, she has to go to the Mirror, not Elias-Clarke!

"I'd really, really like to hear about this, but I gotta get to the office," Emma points with her thumb to the opposite direction.

Lena huffs. "Of course you do... Well, I need your new number because this conversation is definitely not over."

"Your number's the same, right? I think I have it noted down somewhere, I'll call you or something. How about we meet up for dinner? Jefferson's welcome to join us. I really missed you guys."

Lena sighs like it's a great burden, but Emma knows it's all just an act by now. "Fine, fine. Yes, my number's the same. Call me around seven pm and we'll arrange something."

"Okay. Well, it was good seeing you, Lena. Talk to you later."

"I know. Farewell, Emma Swan."

[SQ]

Regina shouldn't let her emotions get the best of her, she shouldn't, but it is hard to admit to yourself you miss someone this terribly.

The morning felt gray after seeing Emma and realizing she's out of reach. And what a stupid idea anyway, attempting to call her for no apparent reason. _What was I thinking?_

She wasn't thinking, and therein lies the problem.

Regina walks around, analysing the model from head to toe, then shakes her head. Something's not matching. Nothing seems to fit today. Not even Jefferson is speaking up if he's not asked — everyone must be aware she's in an awful mood (she can admit to _that_ , no problem).

"We've got a few pieces from Banana Republic," Ursula mentions, showing her a white sleeveless blouse.

Regina sighs, drumming her fingers on her crossed arms. "We've been there, done that. I want something new. Jefferson?"

She watches as he moves the hangers on the clothing rail, mumbling to himself. He then takes a lovely lace-embroidered skirt from… "Ralph Lauren?" he offers.

"Hmm, at least someone came prepared," Regina says, raising an eyebrow, not quite happy but feeling more settled. Jefferson is slowly setting his grudge aside and focusing on the important business. "With the right accessories it could work..." she says distractedly and stares fixedly at nothing in particular, trying to visualize the idea in her mind.

 _What color, what color…_ She has plans for Jefferson. _Perhaps a light fabric?_ She will makes amends with him, it's only a matter of time. _Silk. Azure._ What she did to him is still stomach-churning, and she can't have that — the guilt is not something she likes to dwell in.

 _Perfect._

"Lena?" she calls.

"Yes, Regina?" her assistant's voice asks from somewhere behind her.

"The Hermès scarves you acquired yesterday."

"Right away."


End file.
